


Through The Cracks

by miragoat



Category: Warcraft - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Idk what i'm doing, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-12
Updated: 2016-09-11
Packaged: 2018-08-14 14:30:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8017600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miragoat/pseuds/miragoat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They had been tied together since childhood. Their plights were unique, after all; Llane was alone in the burden of future kinghood, and Medivh had been gifted with magical gifts too dangerous to speak of. They spent their formative years together, battling trolls and seeking glory, but as the months went by Llane feared that Medivh was slipping through his fingers more and more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Through The Cracks

They had been tied together since childhood. Their plights were unique, after all; Llane was alone in the burden of future kinghood, and Medivh had been gifted with magical gifts too dangerous to speak of. They spent their formative years together, battling trolls and seeking glory, but as the months went by Llane feared that Medivh was slipping through his fingers more and more.

He didn’t know what had changed, but he could feel it when they were alone, in the rare moments when he was no longer King Llane of Stormwind and Medivh was no longer Guardian of Azeroth. Medivh had a distant look in his eye, a look that said _keep your distance._ There was a storm brewing inside of his old friend and Llane knew it, but even as a king, he was powerless to stop it. He didn’t understand what the source was, but he did his best to reach out to Medivh despite the mage’s growing reclusiveness. When he didn’t know where else to turn, Llane wrote letters to Medivh.

 _My father is in ill health,_ Llane had written, not because he didn’t know that the day had to come when his father would become a weak old man, but because it seemed that all of Stormwind was closing in on him, each noble hoping to earn his favor before he was the man who wore the crown. Llane understood politics well enough. He knew that their words would not amount to anything if he was to be just, but he needed someone who wouldn’t care that he was soon to be the latest ruler in the Wrynn dynasty. He needed someone to see him as just Llane.

When Medivh came to him, it was as if he didn’t see him at all.

It was not unusual for Medivh to wander the city as he wished, but Llane watched him pay tribute to his sick father without saying a word to acknowledge that he was in the room. When at last Llane was tired of waiting, he threw his arms around Medivh and greeted him as “brother”, though he felt that Medivh was so much more than that. When he pulled away and examined Medivh’s face, he could not mask his concern. His friend’s skin was a sickly color that needed sunning, and his eyes were glassy, as if his mind were anywhere but in the present. His lips were pale and dry. Llane took Medivh’s face in his hands and fought the urge to weep. He couldn’t lose his father _and_ Medivh.

The tears that welled in Llane’s eyes must have given Medivh some sense of the gravity of the situation. He looked into Llane’s eyes, and something in his face changed, and he was Llane’s Medivh again. “You are not alone, Llane.”

When at last they were alone, Llane’s wall broke and he sobbed like he’d never sobbed before. His sobs wracked his sleep-deprived body, and he was trembling, gasping for breaths. All the while, Medivh held him so tightly that Llane’s arms ached. Llane buried his face in Medivh’s shoulder, and the scent of cloves and something sweeter filled his nostrils. He longed to tell Medivh that it was everything to have him in Stormwind with him.

“He will die soon,” Llane croaked. “I’m not ready for this. I’m not ready to watch him die… or for what comes after.”

“I know. You will never be ready, but you must be.”

He pulled himself back enough to look Medivh in the eye. “Can I bear this weight as you bear yours? I don’t feel strong enough.”

“You _will_ be strong enough. You will rule.” Medivh’s green eyes were fixed on Llane’s dark ones, and they had grown darker, more intense than before. He was the Guardian now, grim and authoritative. Without thinking, Llane reached up and ran the back of his hand down Medivh’s face, along his jawline, memorizing what it was like to touch someone so dear to him. His thumb brushed against Medivh’s bottom lip, and Medivh pulled him into a kiss.

Llane had never kissed anyone before. Medivh’s goatee scraped against his skin and his lips were rough, but it felt gentle all the same. Medivh wrapped his arms around Llane’s waist and Llane made a happy humming sound. He’d never felt so much _warmth_ rushing through his body. The ache in his chest was dulled as he leaned against Medivh. Medivh was all of his senses, sight and smell and taste and touch and sound, and he grasped Medivh’s shirt desperately. He never wanted to let go.

Medivh’s hands were deft in peeling Llane’s off of him. His hands were smooth, scholar’s hands, although Llane was sure that Medivh had killed at least as many trolls as the rest of them. Llane struggled against Medivh, but he had an iron grip despite his lean size. “Calm yourself. You still have lords to see, and you cannot see them with tears in your eyes or a flushed face. You will show them no sign of weakness.”

Llane squared his shoulders. There was sense in what Medivh said. He stood to study himself in the looking glass. His eyes were still swollen from crying and his hair was a disaster, but he could work with that. He ran a hand through his dark hair until it looked presentable. “I need to wash my face,” he told Medivh.

The mage stood beside him. “No need.” With a snap of his fingers, a rush of water ran from the top of Llane’s head to his face. It seeped down to his chest before it faded, and Llane was ready to curse Medivh for getting his clothes wet, but with a word Medivh dried his clothes. “Better.”

He turned to thank Medivh, but the mage was gone in an instant, slipping through his fingers all the more.


End file.
